Cold Nights
by emmy313
Summary: Jack Kelly has never had anyone to fuss over him, and he sure doesn't need it now. At nearly 18, he's the oldest and the strongest and the smartest: His brothers need him. But the boys always knew that once one of them got sick, they were all bound to get it sooner or later...
1. Chapter 1

_January 1900-5 months post-strike_

Winter was always brutal in the newsboys' lodge house. At least on sticky, steamy summer days the boys could open all the windows and strip down to nothing but shorts, laying flat on their backs on the rooftop, or lounge in the fire escape to catch sips of breeze.

But during the long, dark, East coast winters, wind and snow and still frigid air seeped into mice holes, in between their sheets, and into their spines, lungs, and grimy fingernails. Donations of hand-me-down coats, watered down vegetable soup, and lukewarm hot chocolate from the Sisters at the convent up the block helped some, but not enough. Never enough. So the boys braced themselves dawn after dawn for stinging winds, runny noses, and chapped lips. They shouted half-true headlines until they were hoarse, trying to sell out as quick as possible. Both Crutchie and Race had hacked and wheezed their way through the past three Christmases. Often by February, the boys' hands were so dry and wind-burnt their palms would crack as they folded their papers in the morning.

"Headline better not be about this damn storm coming." Mush complained as half a dozen boys stomped into the distribution center early one January morning.

"Yeah, we all knows it's winter." Crutchie said. He rubbed his hands together to try to warm them.

"Ah, we'll sell plenty today, fellas." Jack smiled. "I'm feeling good."

"Well, I ain't." Specs said.

Albert, standing behind him, sneezed loudly. "Think we'll get some pity tips with them colds, at least?" He asked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Specs cleared his throat.

"Your ol' ugly mug get pity tips from rich gals?" Romeo said. "Not a chance!"

"Ah, bug off." Specs said. Albert sneezed again, and Mush turned his head to cough into his broad shoulder. He'd been coughing for a month.

With their poor food, long hours on their feet, and close quarters, the boys all knew that once one of them got sick they were all bound to get it sooner or later. Most of the time, they sighed and pushed through-papes don't sell themselves.

Davey and Les brought a wave of cold air with them, both ducking their faces into their thick jackets as they came around the corner.

"'ey buddy." Jack swung an arm around Les' shoulder. "Ya feelin' betta?"

Les nodded and shrugged away from the embrace. "I'm fine. Much better. Ma's babying me." Les was the only newsboy to have taken a sick day all year. Even the nasty chest cold that swept through the group every December rarely kept the boys off their corners. But Les was five or six years younger than most of the boys. And unlike most of the boys, he and Davey had a warm, safe bed to go home to each night, and a mother to fuss over them. Everyone knew this, but no one said so.

"You _did_ have a fever yesterday." Davey pointed out, placing a protective hand atop his brother's dark hair. "Don't need ya out in this weather selling papes and making yourself sicker."

"Join the dying." Mush said dryly, gesturing towards Specs and Albert, who were sitting side by side on the empty distribution wagon, sleepy and sniffling.

The window to the print shop flew open and the circulation bell clanged. The boys lined up with their fistfuls of change to buy their papers for the day.

"What's the headline fellas?" Jack clapped his hands. "Anything good?"

"Dammit just tone it down, willya, sunshine." Mush snapped.

"You shut up!" Tommy Boy whipped around.

"Buy your papes and hit the road, fellas!" Jack gave Mush a shove. "We all cold and tired. That ain't news."

"Train derails: No injuries." Tommy Boy read the headline. "No injuries! Great! How the hell are we supposed to sell a story if nobody died?"

"How dare a guy have some joy, huh?" Crutchie said to Les with a crooked grin. Les smiled. Davey yawned.

Jack bounded up the block. "Papes don't sell themselves, fellas! Let's get out there!"

No one else seemed to share Jack's enthusiasm.

Jack Kelly's confident stride slowed to a shuffle once his brothers had scattered in all directions. His throat had been feeling like sandpaper for days, and the sunrise over the city failed to warm the cold, stiff air. At least it wasn't snowing. Yet. Jack walked a few more blocks and positioned himself on a corner across from the barbershop.

 _Gotta get these papes sold before the snow hits._ He thought. _Gotta keep the boys under one roof._ He sniffled _._

The headline wasn't as bad as Mush had predicted, but it wasn't stellar either. So Jack improvised. "Train crash in Buffalo: Man decapitated!" He tried out one of the big words Davey had read in his books. "Extra! Extra! Ma'am? Girl loses leg in firey train crash! Heard it right here, sir! Train explodes in Buffalo!"

By 10am, everyone who wanted a morning paper had gotten one already. Even though he hadn't walked any more than a usual morning of selling, he was **so** _ **sore**_ _._ His throat was killing him now, and everytime he sniffed it got worse. It wasn't even noon yet.

"Toughen up, Kelly." He muttered to himself. He crossed his arms and stuck his stiff, red fingers under his armpits, searching for any warmth. "Get ya papes!" He called to a passing group.

By mid-afternoon, dark clouds began alternating rain that froze and snow that melted. People rushed from building to building, paying no attention to the newsboys shouting to sell their last copies.

As the snow and sleet fell harder, Jack quit. He had 6 papers left that he knew would never sell. Thankfully he could get his money back from the distribution center, but he was so exhausted he contemplated going straight home. _Life ain't free._ He told himself. He tried to do the math in his head of how much money he'd get back, but he couldn't quite think straight. Anyways, every penny mattered.

The walk home was 14 city blocks, plus a 3 block detour to sell back his papes. Jack trudged along, his wet boots heavier with every step. Every breath of sharp, cold air felt like swallowing broken glass.

All the boys arrived back at the lodging house around the same time, dripping and bone cold. They passed around towels to dry off and wrapped themselves in blankets from their beds. Some groaned at the thought of more watery soup from the nuns, but at least it might be warm. As he lumbered up the stairs, Jack spotted Tommy Boy and Albert sitting in their bunks, still in their snow-soaked clothes.

"Get out of them wet things." Jack said hoarsely. "Ya wanna catch ya death?"

Tommy Boy grabbed the bunk above him and swung himself up. "Sound like you the one who's catching ya death, Jackie."

Jack cleared his throat. "I'm alright." he said.

"Ya sure 'bout that, Jack?" Crutchie asked. "You don't look real good."

"Neither do you, gimp!" Romeo called.

"Knock it off!" Jack said. Then he turned his head and sneezed twice.

"And?" Tommy smirked. Jack sniffed loudly and slowly raked a hand through his thick, dark hair.

"I don't need ya fellas worrying about me." He grumbled. He unbuttoned his shirt, and peeled the soaking fabric from his skin. Goosebumps prickled on his arms and chest. "I ain't sick. I'm cold and tired, is all. We all is." He sat down on his bed. It felt so good to _sit._ And to close his eyes, just for a minute.

"Whatever ya say, Jack." Someone said.

The boys went downstairs to sit closer to the heater. Tommy Boy pulled a deck of cards out from under his pillow and rounded up a game of poker with the younger boys. Bits of conversation and tired, ragged laughter floated upstairs. Jack would get up and join them soon. What would they do for supper? He'd see if he could talk the nuns into more soup, or have all the guys chip in a few cents to run down to the bakery before it got too dark and snowy. Jack kicked off his boots and reached for his blanket to wrap around his bare shoulders. He'd rest for just a minute.

"Ugh, how long have I been asleep?" Jack mumbled. His hair was stuck to the nape of his neck and he couldn't breathe through his nose. His mouth was dry.

"An hour or two." Crutchie said. He hung onto the line of bunks for support as he walked, then sat down at the foot of Jack's bed. Jack sat up. "How ya feeling?"

"Fine." He said. He muffled a round of coughs into his blanket. "Did y'all get anything to eat?"

"The sisters brought soup and bread. Wanted us to have something in our bellies before the storm came."

Jack looked out at the fire escape, already piled with several inches of snow. "I think it's come." He said.

"Want some supper?" Crutchie asked.

"Yeah I'll come get it." Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and buttoned his wrinkled shirt. His head weighed forty pounds.

"Sure?"

Jack nodded, sniffling and rubbing his nose. "I wanna sit by the heater."

The pair made their way slowly down the stairs, where the other newsies were gathered, playing cards by lamplight. They were all drawn and worn. Specs poured Jack the last of the soup.

"You all get enough?" He asked. He sat down at the rickety wooden table with Crutchie, Race, and Albert.

Several of the boys nodded. "Living like kings." Albert said. "We alls heard ya coughin' in your sleep. How d'ya feel?"

"I ain't any sicker than you is." He started to say something else but was cut off by more unexpectedly deep, chesty coughs.

"Maybe true." Specs said. He sounded a little stuffy too. "But no one else is as bullheaded."

"Eat up, Jackie." Tommy Boy commanded as shuffled his cards. He sat on the floor next to a handful of marbles, two cigars, and a penny. Henry, the youngest of the group, pouted at his losses but accepted another hand as Tommy dealt five cards each to the semicircle of boys gathered around him.

"Ya think ya got a fever, Jack?" Race asked.

"Nah." He took a couple bites of soup, and was glad he could barely taste anything.

Crutchie reached across the table and pressed a hand to his friend's forehead. "Yeah. Ya do."

Jack leaned away from him. "Ah, stop it." He coughed again. "So I's got a little cold. I'll live."

Henry and Crutchie stared at him, concerned.

"Stop being so damn stubborn for just five minutes, Jack Kelly." Tommy said.

"Yeah." Specs said. "Yous always taking care of us. Let us take care of you for once."

Albert nodded. "Yeah, take it easy."

Jack sighed. "Yous boys." He propped his head on his fist.

Mush, who had been sitting quietly near the stove, stood up and pulled a small paper bag out of his pocket.

"Candy?" Henry asked, wide eyed.

"Cough drops." Mush said. He took one for himself and dropped the bag in the middle of the table. "Horehound. Maybe we can all get some blasted sleep for once."

 **Haven't decided if I'm done with this or not yet. I like it as a one-shot, but I could get into some more drama/fluff and keep this going. I could also possibly make this a series of similar hurt/comfort 1-shots? Anyways, new to this site, not to writing or Newsies! Review if you want more! 3 -Em**


	2. Chapter 2

The storm brought more cold and snow blowing into the lodge house, and some of the boys' bunks shook with coughing. Mush, Specs, and Albert quieted, their throats soothed by the nun's soup and Mush's cough drops, but Jack wheezed late into the night.

The morning bell rang when it was still dark and grey. A blanket of dirty snow covered the already-busy streets, and a still, crisp chill seeped into every crevice of the lodgehouse.

"Rise and shine!" Race called down the row of bunk beds.

"Oh! I hate walking in snow." Crutchie supported his weak leg with both hands, swinging it heavily, stiffly over the side of his bunk. The stiff joints and slippery surfaces made walking dangerous for Crutchie in the winter.

Tommy Boy gave him a hand getting up as he passed by. Most of the boys slowly emerged from their blanket cocoons to wash their faces in cold water, throw on as many layers of clothing as they had, and hover by the stove until they had to leave.

"Jack?" Henry climbed down from his top bunk and noticed the leader below him still in bed. "Jack, you awake?"

Jack sat up slowly. His head was heavy and his throat burned. Everything ached. "Mmmph."he mumbled. "Yeah...don't feel good."

Crutchie paused as he passed by. Jack's face was flushed, his green eyes glassy and bloodshot. He coughed into his fist. "Ya look real rough, Jack." Crutchie said.

"I'll be okay." Jack said automatically. "Just a cold."

"We'll cover you for a day or so, Jack." Specs said.

"No." He said. "More of us there is, the faster we'll sell out."

He hung onto the bunk as he stood up and slowly started pulling on clothes. He hurt from head to toe and he hadn't even hit the streets yet. Deep coughs rumbled in his chest. All the boys, in various stages of getting ready, turned to stare at Jack with wide eyes.

"Aw, hell no!" Tommy Boy's voice echoed through the washroom. He marched into the bedroom and right up to Jack, who was still trying to catch his breath. "Listen here you lying punk!" Tommy was a head shorter than Jack, but he put his hand on Jack's shoulder and pushed him down until he was sitting on the bed. "You said all last night you was fine and you ain't fine! You ain't going nowhere today. Ya hear that? Remember all them headlines a few years ago about that Russian flu? Ya wanna end up a damn headline cause ya died of stubbornness? Do ya, Kelly?"

Jack rubbed his eyes."I don't want y'all worrying about me." He said hoarsely. "It's my job to take care of you."

"No you numbskull." Tommy tossed another blanket at him while he talked. "We's takes care of each other. Yous might be the leader 'round here but ya ain't invincible. You our brother. And brothers gotta look out for brothers."

The circulation bell clanged up the block. The door open and shut downstairs as the others left to buy their papes. Crutchie eased himself onto the bunk next to Jack's. "I can't get out today." He said, shaking his head. "Them streets is too dang slick."

"Don't fall, kid." Jack said. He laid back down.

"I gonna put some more coal on an go get my papes." Tommy said. He pulled on his coat and buttoned it up. "Crutch, you makes sure he stays put in that bed."

" got it Tommy." Crutchie said.

"Y'all need me." Jack mumbled. He couldn't decide if he was hot or cold.

"Yeah, we do." Crutchie said. "But we need ya alive and well. Trust the others. Theys okay without us. Now go to sleep."

Jack nodded. He rolled over and fell back into a restless doze.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack startled awake. He bolted straight up in bed—thunk! The top of his head hit Henry's bunk above him. "Uh!" He cried.

"Hey, hey." Crutchie said. He was sitting on the floor a few bunks down. "Easy there, Sleeping Beauty."

"Hot." Jack grunted. He shoved his blankets to the floor. He still felt sticky. His hair was stuck to his face, his clothes were stuck to his skin, his skin was stuck to his bones, and his lungs were stuck together like wallpaper glue.

Crutchie crawled across the floor. The cold weather sometimes made his legs too stiff to walk on. "You says you hot?" He said. "You da only one. It's just about zero outside, and not a whole lot warmer in here."

Jack felt less shaky than he did that morning, but that was the only marginal improvement. "What time is it?" He asked.

"Almost noon." Crutchie said. He handed Jack a cup of water and Jack glupped it down.

"Sorry I ain't real good company." Jack said. He ran his hand down his face.

"S'okay." Crutchie smiled. He pointed to where he'd been sitting. Tommy's cards now formed an elaborate house. "Ya was talking an awful lot in your sleep. Remember any of it?"

"No." Jack said. He wondered if something he'd been dreaming had woken him so suddenly. "What was I saying?"

"Didn't catch a lot of it." Crutchie said. He used his arms to hoist himself up and sit on the foot of Jack's bed. "Something about some street dogs. And about selling papes."

"Nothing too shameful, then." He said. He coughed again and it took him a minute to catch his breath.

"Sounds like the Christmas plague. A month late." Crutchie said. Jack nodded.

"You all still went and sold papes, though. You and Race three years in a row." He leaned back against his pillow.

"We ain't smart." Crutchie said. "It ain't no picnic."

"You ain't weak." /span/p

Quit ya whining, Jack Kelly." Crutchie leaned down to grab Jack's blanket he'd thrown on the floor and pulled it into his lap. "You da strongest guy I know. Shoot, you're human." Jack sighed, which made him cough again. They were quiet for a while.

Jack?" Crutchie said. "'Member last summer, when you was talking about Santa Fe? Do ya ever wish you'd gone?"

Jack closed his eyes again. Clay buildings. Miles and miles of open red desert. Or maybe it was brown. He always saw reds and orange when he thought of Santa Fe. Orange and red and fresh air and freedom. But here...here in New York he had Katherine. He has his brothers and his art""Not unless theys got the cure for the Christmas plague out there." He said. Crutchie smiled.

"Can't wait to get back to cartoonin' again, though. Three months and I out." Jack shook his head. "Them big shots can find all the cash to keep their pocketbooks happy, but can't find a dime to support a kid telling the truth."

"Some things don't change." Crutchie said.

Jack nodded. He was too tired and too sick to think about running away. To think about being nearly 18 and still stuck selling papes on cold, dirty streets. To think about how his boys—a group that even since the strike seemed to grow hungrier and larger by the day—would get on without him, especially the littlest boys. don't do this. He told himself. No dreaming. No dwelling. Not now.

He broke out coughing again. "Hey kid?" He said. "Is there some more water?" /

"Sure, Jack." Crutchie said. "But, I, uh, I dunno if I can get down the stairs right now. I can try though."

"No, no." Jack said. He stood up slowly. "Last thing we need is yous hurt and me sick with nobody around." He stumbled downstairs, refilled the water pitcher, and stirred the fire. Cold wind still blew through all the cracks, but the storm had stopped and there was some sunshine. He hoped the others weren't too cold. Not that his hoping did them any good.

Xxxxx

i thought this would be the last chapter but this one ended up long! I'm an absolute sucker for big tough cocky guys like jack/Jeremy being made so vulnerable. I remembered after I started writing that post-strike Jack isn't a newsie anymore, so I wrote that in. I thought about rewriting it pre-strike, but this way we get all the characters from the show. And it's so much more heartbreaking to think of Jack's shot at something better (the cartoon job) being ripped away again.

Anyways excuse any typos. I'm moving and doing this on my phone. R&R ❤️ -Em


	3. Chapter 3

The dozenth time that afternoon Jack's cough woke him up, he awoke to commotion. The living space downstairs was alive with laughter and fast talking and floorboards rattling and pounding as the boys roughhoused. He got up to see what they were all riled up about.

Katherine gasped when she saw him coming slowly down the steps. "Jack Kelly, you get back in bed right this minute!"

A genuine smile emerged from under his disheveled hair and tired eyes. "Well hello to you too, Sugar." He said. He sounded like he'd been eating gravel.

"Go, Jack." Katherine said. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with her hands on her hips. "I'll be right there."

He trudged back up the steps and collapsed into his bunk. The world always felt so much safer with Katherine around. With him selling papes again, they'd hardly seen each other since Christmas.

He kept his eyes closed as he heard Katherine's boots clack up the stairs. "I heard you've been a difficult patient, sir." She said as she sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat up.

"What're you doing here?" Jack asked. He was suddenly aware how sweaty and exhausted he must look. He ran a hand through his hair. Yuck.

"Some of the boys came and found me at work. They said you're terribly sick and I needed to come." She put her hand on top of his. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty rotten, if I's being truthful." He said. He still felt like he could've been blown away in a good wind, and his throat was killing him.

She put her soft hand on his forehead. "Leaping lizards! You're burning up, Jack."

"I knows."

"Poor thing." Katherine rubbed his arm. "I'm glad I'm here."

"Kat, I'm gonna be fine," Jack insisted. "If this damn cough will ever let me sleep."

"You are the most impossible boy." She was rummaging around in a bag he didn't even know she'd brought. She uncorked a small glass bottle and poured a thick amber substance onto a spoon. "Here." She held it out to him. "Cough syrup."

It was sweet in his mouth but burned on the way down. "The hell are ya giving me?"

"A tried and true remedy." She said. "It's mostly bourbon." She rummaged around her bag again and handed him a powdery white pill—one of them new-fangled aspirins. "But you Irishmen know whiskey, right?"

"Kat…" he said.

"It'll make you feel better." She said. She crossed her legs.

"Ya don't need to mother me. I's a little better." He swallowed the bitter aspirin dry.

"I'll believe it when you can stand and breathe at the same time." She said. "Honest, Jack, I don't mind." She found his hand again and their fingers laced together. "I brought supper and cocoa. Specs and I got sandwiches from Jacobi's."

"That—"

"It's been a while since I've treated my favorite boys." She smiled.

"You really are something, Ace." He said.

"I've missed having you around, Jack." She pulled her feet up underneath her, hidden by her wool skirt, and scooted closer to him."I...I hate that everything has been so dang tough for you lately."

"I've been better." He said. "I've been worse."

She shook her head. "You're so proud. Proud and bullheaded and arrogant."

"Aw, Kat, no." He was way too sick for an argument.

"I'm not criticizing." She adjusted her grip on his hand. "I just wish you didn't always feel like you have to carry all of these boys on your shoulders."

"We brothers." Jack said. Whatever Kat had given him was making his throat feel a little better. "You don't get it. I been in this 'ere place since I was 10, Kat. Known Specs and Elmer and Race and Tommy...all 'em since I was 10 or 11. I led us through the strike. I gotta see us through. This is one of the worst winters we've had in years, and all's us sick."

"You've been through a lot together." She agreed. "But most of the boys aren't little kids anymore. Maybe...maybe they don't need as much protecting as you think."

"Maybe." Jack said. "I guess I forgot theys all growed up too." He leaned back into his pillow.

"Let me help." Kat whispered. "You're strong, Jack, but you don't have to be. Let someone take care of you for once."

"I don't 'member the last time somebody fussed over me like this." Jack said. He didn't remember the last time he'd been so sick, either.

She kissed his cheek. "It's nice to have a girl around, isn't it?"

"Nice to have a gal like you around, Ace."

"You up for some supper?" She started to stand up.

"Not yet." He said. He grabbed her hand. "Can we just stays up here and talk? It's felt like ages since I seen ya."

Kat smiled. "Of course." She said. "But promise me you'll eat something soon? And that you'll tell me to leave if I'm wearing you out?"

"I been in bed all day, Kat." Jack said. He patted an empty space beside him. "Please, talk my ear off."

.

They sat at opposite ends of the bed, their legs almost tangling in the middle. Kat told him story after story of working at the paper, making her living being nosy and curious and brushing off all her male coworkers who wouldn't take her seriously.

"Yous strong too, Ace, dealing with all them men who don't know you're the best dang writer in the whole city." Jack smiled. "Need me to bust some heads down there?"

"You're not the first newsie offer." Kat said. "But I do a pretty good job looking out for myself."

The boys downstairs played cards by the stove as they laid together talking for hours.

"Ahem." Race stood at the top of the stairs and raised an eyebrow at Jack and Kat sharing his bed. "Feeling better, Jackie?"

Even they were fully clothed and hardly touching, Katherine sat up and straightened her dress. She looked down the row of bunks to the fire escape. "Oh." She said. "The sun's set already."

"Ya lovebirds have been up here awhile." Race said. "Wanted to make sure you was still alive."

"Fine." Jack said.

"We saved ya a sandwich, Jackie." Race said and Jack nodded, but he still didn't really feel like eating.

Kat picked up her bag. "I'll leave the medicine with you." She said. "But I'd better get home. I didn't realize how late it'd gotten."

Jack stood slowly. "I can't walk you home." He said. "But I'll walk you out." He held out his arm.

Race rolled his eyes. She giggled and took his elbow. "What a gentleman."

The boys leapt up to hug Kat goodbye as she left, and Race and Albert volunteered to walk her home.

She took her sweet time bundling up and gathering the things she'd brought. None of them had known until last summer how much they needed her, but the boys and Kat missed each other when she wasn't around.

"Com'ere, Ace." Jack was standing at the door. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a long hug. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for everything." He said softly.

She stood on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "You take care of yourself, Jack Kelly."

xxxxxxx

Endings are hard. But YAY for Kat! (Also, if you haven't before, Google cough remedies 100 years ago. Yikes). And thanks for all the well-wishes about my move. I'm settling in and searching for a full-time job-and I got my internet hooked up so I'm not typing on my little phone screen! Thanks for the love, Fansies.


	4. Hey!

Hey pals! just FYI I'm starting a hella sad companion piece to this story since it was more popular than I expected 3 Be on the lookout!

i want to get to know you lovely people! Tell me something 'bout yourselves!

-Em, 22, teacher, triplet, flower child, fanfic returnee


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